


A Different Kind of David and Goliath

by Araceil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 나 혼자만 레벨업 - 추공 | Solo Leveling | Only I Level Up - Chu-Gong, 나 혼자만 레벨업 | Solo Leveling (Webcomic)
Genre: (research was done), Action, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Cuddling, Deepthroating, Edging, Face Sitting, Frottage, Glasses kink, M/M, Magical restraints, Manhandling, Overstimulation, PWP, Romance, Size Kink, Slash, Smut, blowjob, inappropriate use of psychokenisis, safe lube substitutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: He was just another face in the crowd of S-ranks to Thomas.Until he wasn't. And there was no crowd. Until it was just them against the End of the World.
Relationships: Thomas Andre (Solo Leveling)/Harry Potter
Comments: 267
Kudos: 1257
Collections: Great Harry Potter Crossovers, HP Crossovers Fanfics - WIP, Love these stuff UwU





	1. Chapter 1

He was just another face in the crowd of S-ranks to Thomas.

Unusual in that he was so young and tiny, weird in that he was moving from group to group with a very nervous and harassed looking interpreter chasing his heels as he spoke to each group, but ultimately nothing to pay attention to – at least until he reached the American S-rankers and requested permission to provide augmentation and shielding magic to them.

The eyes were what took him aback.

Sharp and unyielding hard green.

It was because of those eyes that he agreed, feeling the mana settle on his skin, in his blood and bones, and felt raw _power_ crawl up through his veins. And of course, when he started laughing and grinning the rest of the US hunters agreed too.

“What's your name, kid?” he asked, leaning down to peer under the brim of that ridiculously huge mage's hat.

“Harry Potter, UK Hunter's Association,” the young man announced, looking up at him fearlessly. So this was the UK's Sweetheart S-rank, widely considered the most approachable and likeable of all the S-ranks worldwide. He was likely a weakling so Thomas just grinned and patted the kid on the head in thanks and mentally wrote him off as another corpse walking. The disgruntled look of irritation he got in reply was hilarious but the kid was quick to move on to the Canadian contingent, offering them the same deal – he was rejected, but he took it gracefully and moved on, expression tightening with displeasure. Shame. That ability of his was pretty good, Thomas could feel his strength surging higher than even Madam Selner had provided, for all that he knew it was temporary. If he got lucky, Thomas would invite him to the Scavengers. Hell, if Thomas saved him, he'd use the life debt to ensure it – they could do with another S-rank, especially an augmenter like that. If he survived. If they survived.

Thomas put the kid out of his mind and instead focused on the task ahead.

The S-rank Dungeon Break.

The first S-rank Dungeon to appear, of course it popped up in America, and of course there was no physical way to get through the Gate. It rebuffed all who attempted to enter. They had no idea what was going to come out of that gate and the USA had prepared accordingly, prepared for Armageddon, prepared to _crush_ the threat to their nation with every ounce of might that their overwhelming capitalism could purchase. Over a hundred hunters from across the world had been hired for this Dungeon Break, because the USA knew it was going to be bad. And here on the West Coast, it was too close to those major population centres and seats of Government for them not to overreact the fact that fear-driven panicky Americans were prone to.

The sad part was – they thought they were ready.

They thought that with a hundred of the world's best, they could handle anything that gate had to throw at them.

Then Kamish descended, and proved how very wrong they were.

The scream, the horrible scream that tore through the air brought almost all of them to their knees, even Thomas could feel the power of that cry echoing in his bones. Felt his knees weaken, almost buckle.

And then Kamish choked, roar cutting off as someone launched a lightning bolt between its teeth.

He wasn't the only one to gape at the British Mage as he swept his staff up, screaming something, and golden light exploding from the tip of his staff to spin out around over them all in a dizzying magical array, flaking golden light like snow that melted away the fear, the terror, the despair of that awful scream.

And then the fight was on.

Thomas Andre was a tanker. _The_ Tanker.

Kamish's Breath scorched the flesh from his bones, only for the cold rush of healing magic to grow it back in an itching wave of ice.

But as the fight continued, as the healers fell, targeted and destroyed by the calamity dragon as it lay _waste_ to America, men and women clashing, falling, dying, screaming, burning, _silent_ as they tried to steer it, drive it away from cities and towns and people. Their numbers whittled down, fell, and as the healers fell, Thomas forced himself to take more, absorb more, harden, strengthen, to _take it!_

The next time Kamish's Breath washed over him, his skin burned, but remained.

The Chinese fighter took his opportunity to attack, backed up by Reed and that Indian fighter, Sid something? Thomas felt the familiar rush of power through his veins, augmentation magic. The British mage summoning pillars of ice and stone to give the fighters platforms for attacks, shields of wind to steer attacks just enough to the side to protect them. Huge magical arrays that Kamish had to break through before he could hit Thomas who had his Aura _burning_ hard and bright, luring it, anchoring its attention to him with everything he had.

Kamish screamed, and ice crawled through their veins.

How were they supposed to defeat this monster? How could they? The five of them against _**this**_ , after hundreds, _hundreds_ , of S-rank fighters, tankers, mages, assassins, and rangers had fallen? They had no healers. They had no rangers. No assassins. Just one tanker. Three fighters. And a mage who hadn't even started shaving yet. They were done. Humanity was over. It would be easier, safer, if they just killed themselves, ended it now. It would be less painful. It would be dying on their own terms it –

“NO!”

Thomas looked up, hazy, unsure of when he fell to his knees, fabric flickered in front of him, and suddenly the world was noise and magic and power.

The mage snarled, hands outstretched, feet dug into the fracturing stone ground as he took the full wrath of Kamish's Breath on his shields, and held it back before it could erase him. The world was bathed in the blood red light of the dragon's wrath, the kid's hands outstretched, his gloves vanishing, scorching away into scraps as his shields threatened to buckle, as he took a role that wasn't his to begin with and met raw magic with his own.

The Breath cut, Kamish screeching in pain as the distraction the two provided gave Reed and China the chance to attack, to cut at the beast's throat using the stone pillars the mage provided.

The mage staggered and cursed and then turned to glare at him, “STAND THE FUCK UP AND FIGHT!! IF WE FALL HERE, EVERYTHING FALLS WITH US!! **STAND!!** ” he roared, and he was helpless to ignore the command, blood _boiling_ in his veins as the augmentation spells rushed through him like a vengeful tide.

It took everything they had, everything they could throw at it.

But when Kamish finally fell......

All five of them were still standing.

Barely.

Everything was silent as they panted, blood dripping, at the fallen beast's form, as they waited for the next attack, as they blinked sweat and blood and exhaustion from blurry double-vision. When nothing came..... when it remained still and silent, when all that happened was its gargantuan bulk sinking deep and deflating, somehow lesser than when it was alive, an air of its rage still shivering in the air but... lesser.....

“It's over,” Reed choked, and then dropped to the ground, sobbing and laughing, “It's over. We – we won!”

Thomas collapsed, coughing and hacking on his broken ribs as he laughed through the blood. All around him the other five toppled, finally allowing injuries and exhaustion to take them. All except one. The little mage staggered to India, hands glowing gold and green as healing magic knitted the man's half-torn off leg back into place, his broken arm, and the burns that spiralled up his left side. From him was Reed, the American hunter not even attempting to brush the kid away as healing magic smoothed over the vicious burns, reconstructed the missing chunks of his skull and shoulder. From him was the Chinaman who gently touched the kid's shoulder and rasped something in his mother tongue as the healing magic eased away the livid black bruises of internal bleeding.

They were, save for the mage, almost naked, their clothing unable to stand to the wrath of the dragon, even the mage's robes barely survived, scorched and hanging from his tiny body by threads as he dropped down beside Thomas. Gold and green washed through him like a cool breeze, his ribs and chest itching as his shattered ribcage knitted back together, his skin shivering with pins and needles as the burns that ran from his cheek to his knee scabbed and smoothed over to nothing. His broken collarbone and cracked shoulder, the slipped disc at the base of his neck, the dislocated elbow. All restored.

He was still exhausted, they all were, not even healing magic could cure the kind of tiredness they felt.

But as exhausted as he was, he realised his own was nothing on the mage's as he took in the bleeding eyes, the laboured breathing, and how he listed to one side, shaking violently as he pushed just a little more magic, dragged up more energy than his tiny body had, just a bit more, to finally stitch together the torn muscles in his calves from where he had kicked the dragon's jaw shut with everything he had.

He wasn't surprised when the kid's mana finally ran empty, and his magic broke. They all felt the augmentations vanish, the heavy mana in the air that shielded them from the worst of Kamish's power vanished like morning mist burning up under a desert sun. He caught him before he toppled face first into the ground, feeling the mage's chest stuttering as he choked and tried to breathe.

“Mana exhaustion,” Reed observed with pity as Thomas carefully lifted the mage and sat him up properly so he could breathe. “I'm shocked it didn't hit him sooner with the amount of magic he was throwing around.”

Thomas hummed, tucking the shuddering and gasping Mage against his side as his temperature plummeted, “Going into shock,” he noted almost absently.

It would be a shame for the Scavenger's latest prospective recruit to die of something as pathetic as Mana exhaustion.

He adjusted his sitting position and then quite carefully scooped the mage up into his lap properly where he would be tucked up between his legs and against his stomach where it was warm. He knew he was basically a human furnace, and right now the mage needed to stay warm or he would go into organ failure. No one commented, he got a sour look from the Indian, and a narrow frown from the Chinaman but ignored them as the mage eventually stopped shuddering and actually passed out against him.

By the time the Federal Bureau of Hunters caught up with them, they'd all passed out, falling asleep where they sat.

The sound of the helicopter roused them enough to get up and climb aboard, but the mage remained unconscious. It was.... strange, Thomas concluded as he picked the guy up, he clearly wasn't the weakling he'd thought he was, but right now under his hands, the mage felt so _painfully_ fragile. One wrong touch away from breaking.

They were all taken to the hospital but, the mage's healing magic was top-tier, there was nothing that anyone could do for them. They were all taken to the best hotel near-by and given rooms. And despite the many confused side-glances he received, Thomas opted against parting with his new guild member. This one belonged to him now. England clearly weren't utilising him well enough if he was this powerful and practically unheard of outside of how _nice_ he was.

He reached over to the phone and ordered someone to bring him a new phone. Barely half an hour later someone let themselves into the room with his request, Laura, bless her, barely paused when she saw him sprawled out in the bed still in his ruined clothing, the mage wrapped up in the hotel bedding against his chest being petted like a favoured cat. She handed him the phone and then took down his list of demands before seeing herself out and to see them completed. Not long later, more blankets arrived, along with food, clothes, and toiletries. He would shower and change once he was certain the mage wasn't going to go into shock properly. In the meanwhile, he ate, and googled the guy.

UK's Sweetheart Hunter, widely considered the second coming of Merlin..... He was only four years younger than Thomas at twenty-four. Worked as a Detective Inspector for the Criminal Investigative Division before Awakening and moving on to work for the UK Hunter Association's Monitoring division. A little bit of further digging revealed an abusive family growing up, murdered parents, both of whom stood against the IRA and met a sticky end for it. He was the sole survivor of a house-bombing. For someone who was widely considered the nicest of the S-rankers, he received an _awful_ lot of abuse online for not joining Guilds or entertaining reporters or celebrity life-style, for not going into Dungeons as much as others but instead 'bothering' and 'restricting' the Guilds from doing their jobs.

Hmm.... He considered some of the nastier posts on twitter as he dragged his fingers through the mage's hair, glancing up as Laura held the door open for the second lot of bedding to be brought in. She waited until everyone had vacated the room before opening her handbag and throwing two things at him.

He laughed as they landed on the bed and she left with one last judgemental backwards glance.

He put the box of condoms and the large bottle of water based lube beside it onto the bedside table. Well. He certainly _hadn't_ been considering that, but he could understand where she might get the wrong idea. He wasn't a particularly cuddly sort of guy afterall. Of course, now that the idea had been planted, he could honestly say he wasn't opposed to it. He had threatened people into joining the Scavengers, bribed them, awed them, he had yet to _seduce_ someone into joining them. That could be both fun and amusing.

An idea for later, when he'd woken up.

* * *

When he woke up, the date on his phone told him it had been a full thirty six hours since he first fell asleep, and his lap was empty, the shower in the bathroom was going, and someone had actually tucked him in. No one had tucked him in since his Ma had been alive. He groaned, shifting in the bedding and feeling his limbs and joints pop and crack deliciously, the way they only did when he'd pushed too hard in a good fight or workout session.

He drifted off, hovering between sleeping and waking until he heard the bathroom door open, and a soft rustle of cloth coming closer. A warm hand gently touched his forehead, and then fussed with the blankets around him a little, pulling them back up.

His lips twitched a little in amusement before he snapped a hand up, catching the mage's tiny wrist and rolling over. He squawked as he gracelessly fell on top of him, and then under him, spluttering and buried under the blankets he had just been arranging. Thomas laughed, pinning that wrist down to the bed and shifting to pull the blankets off the other hunter's face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he greeted once those green eyes were glaring up at him. Dark hair haloed around him, longer than he would have expected from a cop, but he'd clearly stopped cutting it once the uniform code no longer applied to him, smelling like his preferred citrus bodywash, wearing long thin robes that were far more dress-like than the ones he'd worn to fight the dragon.

“Glad to see you didn't leave it,” the Brit snarked back, pulling experimentally at his wrist before giving up and frowning at him, “Are you alright? I know my magic gave out at some point, but I don't remember if I finished healing you or not.”

Amusement softened him a little. Guess that 'Sweetheart' title wasn't just for the press.

“Took the last of everything you had, but yeah. You finished. I'm fine. So are the others,” he reassured the mage, letting go of him and sitting back against the headboard. He still felt tired, but in a heavy and good kind of way. Like the morning after a hard workout.

The mage sat up, frowning at him, “Are you sure?” he asked sceptically, scooting over the bed to press a hand against his forehead, “You're burning up and you've been sleeping hard. I woke up several times but you've been dead to the world,” he explained, keeping his voice low and strangely soothing, as if he thought Thomas may have had a headache or something.

He hummed, leaning into the touch, reaching up to catch the mage's hand pulling it down to nuzzle into, cracking his eyes open to see the brit's face go sunset red as he pressed a kiss against his palm. He grinned a little to see it.

“Well aren't you sweet? Nothing a shower and something to eat can't fix.” But should he shower now or _after_ he'd finished eating the little mage, he wondered, watching him squirm and look away with heated eyes. Well aware of what Thomas was driving at, and not nearly as unaffected as he probably would have liked to pretend. So very expressive. He couldn't wait to see how he was naked and fucked open. His cock throbbed and thickened visibly in the straining scraps of his clothing at the thought, and the little mage went even redder as he noticed. Thomas chuckled, lips lingering on his pulsepoint, feeling his heart rate begin to pick up. “Very sweet,” he noted with deep intent.

The mage pressed a hand against his chest, “You said you wanted food,” he pointed out firmly, he was still pink cheeked, but now looking at him sternly. It put him in mind of a librarian or a school teacher and he wondered if the mage would be opposed to wearing glasses while he fucked him stupid.

“I could eat,” Thomas agreed playfully, a slow predatory grin spreading across his face before, quick as lightning, he tugged the mage against him and then flipped them over so that he was pinned down on the bed beneath him. “I'm in the mood for something sweet right now,” he decided, pressing a hand against a slender leg and slowly sliding up to his waist, rucking up that thin robe as it went and pausing once he discovered that this little slut hadn't even been wearing underwear beneath it. He grinned broadly, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully across a bare hipbone, not even bothering to look down and see how hard he had gone, he could feel himself surging through the tears of his trouser scraps. “Do you usually go naked under this thing?” he asked salaciously, trailing fingertips across smooth soft skin.

The mage shivered under him, “No. It wasn't – like there were any clothes for me in here,” he complained with a sharp inhale as his thumb began to stroke against his inner thigh, the muscle there twitching under his touch. Thomas grinned wildly as the mage reached down to catch his wrist and scowl(pout) up at him. “I turned one of the sheets into a robe is all. I didn't think you'd be keen on me stealing one of your shirts.”

Oh fuck.

He groaned and dropped his face into the mage's neck. Fuck. If he'd shown up wearing one of Thomas' shirts, he wouldn't have been wearing it for very long before he was bent over. He'd always had a thing for seeing his fuck partners in his clothes, drowning in them. He dragged his tongue across the hunter's throat and felt his breath hitch in surprise even as he pushed the man's legs open further and pressed in tight. The breathy moan he mouthed into Thomas' ear went straight to his cock and he couldn't stop himself from grunting as he thrust against the mage, growling unhappily when he caught in the folds of that robe instead.

It was the work of a few seconds to lift himself and push that robe up. Up and off he decided, ignoring the faint noise of complaint when he got impatient and the fabric tore a little – no need to complain, it wasn't like he was going to be wearing it much in this room.

He didn't even bother taking his own off, he grabbed the remaining scraps and tore himself free of them as if they were little more than wet tissue paper, tossing them to the floor before shoving his face back into the mage's neck, licking at that little spot that made him moan last time. It was so easy, he found, the mage wasn't just expressive, he was so responsive too. His body shivered and twitched, straining and arching under his hands and mouth as he shamelessly explored every inch of silky soft skin before setting his mouth between those quivering thighs and making a start on breakfast.

Mmm, he even sounded sweet.

Hands tangled in his hair and he laughed around the cock in his mouth, listening to the mage curse him out and moan.

He pulled away before he came, nuzzling into the man's stomach, nipping and kissing the flesh around his belly button as he contemplated fucking him properly before deciding against it. Maybe later. They were both still tired after the Dungeon Break, and they didn't know each other well enough yet to take a loss of control with any grace. This was his 'kindness' to the brit for reinforcing him, for protecting him, and for healing him. No pain, only pleasure this time.

He pulled the little mage against him, back to chest, and squeezed his legs together, sliding his cock between those soft thighs with a groan buried into wet hair.

He felt the mage reach up and curl a hand into the back of his head, squeezing his legs together for him as he rutted up between them. He held the smaller man against him, one hand pressed tight against his belly as they lay on their sides, the other over his hip to grasp and stroke the smaller man's cock as he thrust between those legs. The mage whimpered so prettily, arching his neck in an invite that couldn't be ignored.

He ducked down and sank his teeth against a tendon, nipping and sucking, marking him up something pretty, feeling his body shudder and jerk on his shaft, fingers tightening in his hair.

The smaller man whined, choking on a moan as he came, spilling into Thomas' hand as his hips jerked and thrust down on his shaft maddeningly.

When Thomas came, he thrust up hard into the soft skin between the hunter's balls and ass, groaning as he felt his own cum spurt and slop over himself, coating the mage's inner thighs, cock, and the bedding.

He hummed lazily, slowly sliding his now cum-slick slowly softening length between the mage's slick thighs, nuzzling and mouthing his thoroughly marked up neck smugly. Take that Chinaman. This one was his. Not America's. _His_.

He reached up to tilt the mage's face towards him and kissed him, devouring that sweet little mouth properly for the first time. With absolutely no intention of it being the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for my friend whose tastes in men are as hilarious as they are predictable, my own love of size differences, and the folks on tumblr. 
> 
> This fic has nothing to do with Stand, and I haven't decided if there's going to be more, but if there is, it's pretty much just going to be more porn lmao


	2. Chapter 2

Despite what his friends like to tease him about, Harry was _not_ a blushing virgin. Just because he never gave the Press anything to publish didn't mean he didn't have sex, or sexual partners, or a libido at all (fuck you very much Draco, just because he didn't want to fuck _you –_ ).

Even so.

He was maybe beginning to think that Thomas Andre was something of a level he hadn't quite reached. Sexually speaking. He was fairly sure he would have no problem restraining or killing the man but – this – was a bit – _harder...._

“ _Fuck,_ ” Harry whimpered, breathless and gasping.

Thomas laughed against his back, the sound vibrating through his expansive chest, making Harry's stomach flutter, making his breath shake as he felt it through his spine, sending bursts of bright sensation up his nerves. He felt like he couldn't get enough air, like his face was about to burst with fever as he panted and whimpered, gripping the bedsheets hard enough to tear them, too dizzy to even _care_ when normally he tried so hard not to damage things that didn't belong to him. He was going to have to pay extra for the replacements, he didn't like it when people were upset, some poor cleaner might get shouted at by the management –

A short, sharp slap to the thigh chased the thought from his mind, stinging flesh and singing nerves wringing a startled cry from him as he _clenched_ – too much, _too much_ , it felt like he was about to tear, or burst, or _cum_ , and he hadn't even gotten all the way in. It's like there wasn't even space in his body for his own organs, he can't get enough _air_ , and the Tanker only laughed, low and rough and wrecked, as he pressed in another inch or two, huge body dwarfing him, caging him down upon the pile of pillows on the man's bed.

He had only come to make sure the man was healing well after the fight with Kamish. He hadn't intended for this – hadn't intended for a repeat performance but – but – fuck, he couldn't think, couldn't remember how he got here.

His vision swam with spots, dark and bright, and its too much.

Thomas bottomed out, pressed in tight against him, nosing into his hair, every inch of him buried deep inside the mage, and he stayed there. Letting Harry squirm and gasp, pinned and ruined and –

The blond laughed again, and Harry moaned brokenly as he felt it shudder through the giant's whole body. Warm lips pressed against the back of his ear, the American's voice rumbling something Harry was too far gone to understand as huge hands stroked up and down his shaking thighs, parting them just that little bit more. He sobbed, the pressure inside him changing, god, he could _feel him in his stomach_.

“So sweet.”

He was weirdly gentle as he slowly slid his way out again, the slick relaxation of Harry's body a brain numbing relief – but all too soon Thomas was arching back in, a slow languid, _unstoppable,_ roll of his hips. Barely relaxed flesh once again strained to bursting, filled and _burning_ with it as his breath shuddered and his spine arched to try and find some angle that made it less, made it easier, but there's nothing, no escaping. Not when the blond sat up and pressed one of those huge hands against his shoulderblades and pushed, not hard, not forcefully, but Harry's spine bent anyway, his back arching in the opposite direction, pressing down, and it felt like the man's cock was dragging _lightning_ up his _spine_.

There was no adjusting to it.

Harry wailed into the bedding, voice fracturing and his mind overwhelmed, whole body shaking violently.

“Fuuuck,” the American groaned, head falling back, breathing slow and deep at the fluttering _clench_ around his cock, at the sound of the mage whimpering into his bedding, split open and _ruined_.

He dragged his fingers down the brit's spine, the smooth silky skin beneath his fingertips, the quivering flesh yielding so prettily to his desires beneath him. He never should have let this man out of his fucking hotel bed. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

He grinned darkly, licking his lips as he gripped the mage's hips, slowly and carefully pulling back, watching as the flesh of his cock swelled and ballooned out of the man's ass, no longer squeezed so perfectly inside him. And then rolled his hips slowly back in, watching as that greedy little body took him, straining, red and sore, at the size of him, but taking him all the same.

He was careful to build up. It wouldn't do to break his new toy before he's broken him in after all. He knew his strength and he knew his habits. S-rankers could take more punishment and fuck how long had it been since he had been able to bed someone without worrying about breaking their bones? Harry was what the USA were beginning to term as a 'Nationally Ranked' hunter, despite his preferred prey being trouble-making hunters instead of monsters, and really, were they not the most dangerous?

He laughed cruelly, reaching down and hauling the mage up onto his knees, and thrust up into him, practically sitting down on his own bed so the tiny man could be impaled properly, crying out as Thomas felt the ease of his flesh, as his body gave way, the pitch of his voice caving into pleasure.

He fucked, and for the first time since his Awakening, didn't bother to be careful.

It burned all the way to the pit of Harry's stomach, the rhythm turning forceful and hard, jabbing thrusts that felt more like punches sending him reeling and gasping. Every thrust knocking the air from his lungs and pulling, _dragging_ , at his stomach and spine as he slid back out.

He can't think, can't even begin to gather his scattered thoughts as the blond pushed him up and hauled him back, hands _bruising_ on his hips. So easily, _effortlessly_. He writhed, twisting in the man's grip, pulling at his fingers as pleasure twisted like a corkscrew in the pit of his stomach, like someone had attached a wire to every part of his body and was now pulling it, twisting it at that one point and the rest of him was trembling and shaking with the pain of it.

The American's hands slid across his body, hot and brutal, pressing hard on his stomach, pinning him to the man's abdomen, feeling the hard thrust of his own cock under Harry's skin as his other hand gripped his jaw and pulled him back against his chest. Splaying him helplessly, obscenely, across his front.

The man growled something, a command that Harry couldn't make sense of, thrusts jerking and uneven, making the mage whine desperately, fingers scratching at his hands as with a hard press of the hand on his stomach the goliath's whole body jerked upward, driving pain-pleasure up his whole body as he buried himself deep.

It was like the orgasm was punched out of him along with all the air in his lungs as his whole body went taut, cock spurting desperately as he wheezed, clenching, bearing down on the man's cock inside him desperately, mindlessly.

They rolled over, Harry gasping and rubber limbed, once again beneath the American as he buried his face in the back of his hair and slammed into him; hard, desperate thrusts making the mage sob and croak, oversensitive and aching as the man chased his own orgasm. Harry reached up, tangling a hand in the back of the man's hair, pulling him closer and trying to lift his hips for him, the answering groan and cursing as he buried his face and thrust harder into him was like shattering glass across his nerves as he finally reached it. His whole body snapping down, shoving into Harry, crushing him down against the bed so he couldn't escape, his whole body shuddering as he came. Slick, throbbing heat bursting in the pit of Harry's stomach.

It burned and ached like the worst stomach ache of his life, a weird kind of bloating sensation as the blond shook on top of him, breathing ragged and wrecked before slowly he eased. Body going lax and heavy on top of him.

Harry breathed, feeling himself coming down, dizzy and exhausted and aching. The weight was good. He didn't want to move. He could feel Thomas' breath against the back of his neck, hot and wet, the man slowly nuzzling into the back of his ear, trailing lazy fingers across his skin.

He couldn't help the soft breathy sigh when he finally pulled out, moving slow and careful, softening member sliding out with an obscene wet sound and an awful lot of fluid that Harry grimaced a little into the bedsheets to feel running down his legs. Thomas laughed roughly against the back of his head and settled more comfortably on top of him, shoving pillows out of the way so they could rest properly. He made no effort to get up and Harry made no effort to move.

This was nice. He felt loose and fucked out, aching but in a low pleasurable hum.

The pain would come later but for now, he basked in the after-glow, and worried about his uncomfortable eight hour plane flight tomorrow _later_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the power of gingerbread rum, here we are again XDDD;;;
> 
> Considerably less plot, and considerably more porn - to make up for the four pages of set up and single page of action in the last chapter


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas refused to admit that he was sulking.

Laura didn't say a damn word to indicate he was, but the judgemental eyebrows were in full effect and only made him even more grumpy as he waded through the numerous press invites and interview requests in the aftermath of the S-rank Dungeon Break now being called the Calamity of Kamish. The Government were way too fond of rhymes and alliteration. And acronyms.

Potter had rejected his invitation to the Scavengers Guild. And he couldn't even be angry about it. His reason actually made him _like_ the guy more. Fucking shit head.

' _Are you willing to leave the Scavengers for me? ...Don't ask people to do things you aren't willing to do yourself._ '

He was supposed to fly back to England earlier the other day but the President had managed to delay him by begging him to attend an award ceremony before returning home. It had taken a lot of effort to get the Brit to stick around if he recalled, the man hadn't wanted to cause a fuss unlike the other two foreign S-rankers who had been perfectly willing to accept their pay-packets and their thanks for fighting the Dungeon Break. Imagine Thomas' surprise when he learned that Potter had been a _volunteer_. No pay necessary. An absolute fucking crying shame. Who was responsible for that? There was being _nice_ , and then there was willingly being taken advantage of – if he'd agreed to join the Scavengers there was no way anyone would ever take him for granted again. Thomas was quite firmly of the opinion that only he should be allowed to take _advantage_ of the mage.

He grumbled, shoving all the interview requests aside.

Fighting Kamish had been.... incredible. Terrifying. _Thrilling_. It was going to be a long ass fucking time until something else came along to get his blood pumping like that, let him cut loose completely and wreck havoc and destruction until his limbs couldn't hold him up again. Fucking Potter afterwards had been a different kind of thrilling but no less enjoyable.

He wondered if he could sneak into the Brit's hotel room ahead of time.

Laura caught his eye and arched an eyebrow bitchily at him.

...challenge accepted.

* * *

“ – I'm fine,” Potter's voice was gentle and soothing as he spoke on the phone, shooting him a confused and irritated look as he casually swung into the man's hotel penthouse suite through the open windows. He had changed out of his normal robes for a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, and had a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he stirred a pot of pasta on the stove. “...Yes it was scary. I hope Uncle Ron didn't let you watch it on the TV,” he continued, using that special tone of voice that all adults used with young children – making Thomas stop dead in his tracks.

Why was Potter talking to a kid?

“I'll be home soon, promise. The President just wants to say thank you.... Yes, I imagine he'll give me a shiny medal,” the man continued, taking the pasta off the stove to drain the water out into the sink. “Fancy dinner? I hope not. They never have enough food at _fancy_ dinners,” he laughed, “Not like Nana Mols..... Oh really? Well I hope you behaved yourself?” he asked, prying open a sauce bottle to empty into the pasta, stirring it carefully as he warmed it. “Good boy. Can you give the phone back to Aunty Hermione? ...Hey, sorry about asking you to – thank you anyway. Look, I have to go, someone just dropped in. I'll be home first chance I get. Sure. Thanks again, okay... love you guys too. Bye.” He slid the phone down from his ear and hung up before looking at him properly. “Everything alright?” he asked with a small frown of concern.

“You have a kid?” he found himself blurting out.

Potter snorted, “My godson, yes. I've gone through a lot of legal troubles to make sure he's kept anonymous and safe. I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything.”

“Why would I?” he asked, shrugging. The kid wasn't why he was here.

Potter shrugged, “You did ask me to join your Guild. Some men might have held that over my head to – ”

“I ain't one of 'em,” Thomas cut in irritated by the insinuation (and the fact that he knew he might have attempted to do so if he hadn't known how powerful the man was, if he hadn't been fucking him, that hinted too close to commitment, to domestic, and the very concept of it made his stomach turn with disgust).

Green eyes narrowed thoughtfully on him, “...No, I don't suppose you are,” he agreed eventually, faint traces of apology in his tone. “Want some? Won't be very much since I didn't expect guests but...” he trailed off in confusion, pausing mid-gesture to the pasta he was still stirring as Thomas rounded the kitchen counter with wide purposeful strides.

“Yeah. I want some,” he agreed, grinning toothily.

Potter realised what he was after a split second later and yelped as Thomas picked him up off his feet, “Ah! Hey! No! The food's going to burn!” he spluttered as he was dropped down to sit on the counter top.

Thomas grunted, rolling his eyes a little in annoyance as he grabbed the pot of pasta with a bare hand and moved it to a different stove, his iron skin barely even feeling the tingle of heat from the metal pot. Without the pot there, the electric counter-top gave a warning beep and turned itself off, meaning there was no risk of fire while Thomas entertained himself.

“I get the feeling,” the mage gasped against his lips as he kissed him and impatiently pawed at his trousers, “This is going to be a running theme – whenever we meet,” he commented before Thomas shut him up with his tongue down his throat. Of course it was. A hot piece of ass like that and he _didn't_ expect Thomas to take full advantage of something so sweet and willing to be taken advantage of?

He grunted in annoyance before shifting his grip on the man's jeans and just tearing them open, swallowing the sound of objection from his mouth as he threw the annoying rags to the floor, and hiked the mage's up and open – dropping to his knees and swallowing his cute little uncut cock whole, grinning at the startled moan it earned him.

“You – _fuck,_ ” the Brit cursed, hands finding their way into Thomas' hair again as he dragged his tongue up the underside of his cock and rubbed stubbled cheeks and jaw against his balls and inner thigh.

He hooked the mage's legs over his shoulders so he could grab those boney hips and pull him close, deep-throating the smaller man easily, sucking noisily and messily as the mage whimpered and squirmed in his grasp.

The Brit tried so hard not to pull his hair, he couldn't help the sharp rush of arousal as blunt fingernails dragged over his scalp instead, the mage's grip spasming involuntarily as he hauled the man upwards a little, lifting him from the kitchen counter so he could get his fingers inside, putting his hips above his head.

Potter _did_ pull his hair then, “W-wait, I'm – I'm going to – ”

Thomas ignored him, sucking _harder_ even as he thrust his fingers into the man's body, hunting for that little – hard – _nub_ – there.

The mage cried out, straining against his grip as Thomas gleefully pressed and rubbed against the magic fun button as he burst into the tanker's mouth, his whole body shuddering and jerking as he tried to thrust into his mouth.

He chuckled, swallowing it all and sliding the man's cock out of his mouth, giving it a taunting little kiss as he lowered the mage back down, letting his legs slide off his shoulders to rest on his elbows, watching in avid fascination at his pink-flushed face as he whimpered and squirmed on his fingers as they continued to rub against his prostate. Pinned between Thomas and the cupboards behind him.

Would they survive if Thomas fucked him into them?

...Probably not. But he could always pay to have them replaced he decided dipping down to kiss the whining mage silent, stealing the moans out of his mouth as he pressed more fingers inside and began to ready him. He wondered idly in the back of his head how many times he could get the guy to cum before he ran empty, and how quickly. Some of what he had been thinking must have been visible because Potter tugged at his hair again, whimpering in protest.

“I don't – have lube,” he objected against Thomas' mouth.

A legitimate concern but - “Olive oil works fine.” He knew that one from personal experience.

A single thought, a flex of psychokinesis, and the bottle he saw on the counter earlier slid off and straight into his hand. Normally he would have been a little more considerate of safe-sex practices, but he'd already rawed this guy senseless, if he had anything he'd have already caught it by now. No point in bothering with protection anymore, not when it would just slow shit down and deaden the sensation.

And right now, he was _throbbing_ to get in there.

Harry was twisting and wrecked. Hypersensitive and aching from his earlier orgasm and Thomas wasn't _letting_ him come down from it, fingers pressing and rubbing against his prostate, pleasure-pain juddering up his body, twisting in his stomach, feeling as though he were dragging his fingers down the inside of his cock with every motion. God, fuck, it felt so good but it _hurt_ , and it was only the beginning because he knew what was coming next and goddamnit he _wanted_ it but please, let him just – just have a _minute._

The Tanker was holding him up as though he were little more than a doll, Harry's knees over his elbows, bending him in half against the cabinets behind him, tongue hot and thick in his mouth, tasting musky with his own cum.

The fingers separated, pulling at his flesh and slid out. Anticipation clenched in the pit of Harry's stomach, dragging a moan from his lips as he felt the head of the man's cock against him, rubbing teasingly against him, slick and smooth and hot.

And then he pushed.

Slowly, relentlessly, he rolled his hips forward and up at the slowest pace possible, and Harry couldn't move, pinned between the man and the cabinets, and the burn of him _ached_ , twisting up through his stomach to rush like a wave of static buzzing across his limbs. The man's grip was iron. Harry couldn't move, couldn't lean into it, pull away from it, he was trapped and oh, _fuck_ , he clenched around him, trying to do _something_ , but all he could do was take it and try to breathe through it. Head aching back to press into the cabinets as he gasped and heaved for air, the American chuckling as he dipped into the side of his neck and began to mark him up again. Harry would have protested, but healing the bruises was easy, and he couldn't even form words right now.

He was overwhelming, like last time. By the time Thomas had him seated fully on his cock, Harry was practically incoherent, overfull, trembling and twitching as his breath and his grip stuttered and hitched. It felt like he hadn't been stretched enough but he knew that wasn't right.

The giant laughed into his neck, “So sweet,” he mocked and Harry cursed breathlessly, calling him he didn't even fucking know. He laughed and Harry sobbed as he bounced with it, trying to pull himself up only for the grip on his hip to tighten and pin him down. “You sound so prim and proper, even with such a dirty mouth,” he taunted, leaving hot open mouthed kisses across his neck and collar.

The next thrust jarred the words out of his mouth, breaking them into a wail as the tension in his stomach snapped. Harry came again, painfully, suddenly, jerking violently in the giant's grasp, hearing him laugh in appreciation as he tried to move to – there was a loud crack as the cabinets behind him broke.

Thomas just laughed harder and Harry whimpered into his hair, trembling and limp.

Carefully, the man pulled out and rearranged their limbs, hauling Harry up to his feet and then dropping him on top of the counter, dragging his hips back –

He had a split second to realise what was happening before the Tanker shoved himself back in, all the way to the hilt, ruthless and violent and _too fucking much._ Harry screamed, fingers digging into the marble counter and breaking it, shattering it, as the blond stopped, panting hard and holding still, just long enough for Harry to feel how deep he was, the burn of his body trying to take him in, how _thick_ , and then he pulled back out, sharp and sudden, feeling like he was about to drag all of Harry's organs with him before he thrust back in.

Marble crunched under his fingers as the blond ploughed into his body, gripping both of his hips, practically holding him up as his feet ached on tiptoe. The feel of him was a burning ache that was too much to be called either pleasure of pain at this point. It was just too much and Harry could only hold on and take it.

Thomas came, snarling gutturally as his thrust practically put him on top of the counter as he bottomed out, crushing Harry's hips between his own and the countertop as the mage cried out desperately, feeling the hot wet pulse of his release bloating his stomach.

He trembled violently as the blond rutted into him lazily a little more, soft rasping grunts as he worked out just that little bit more of his release into Harry's body before collapsing over him, not bothering to pull out as he stroked his hair and dropped a kiss onto his shoulder.

“You know what, I'd love something to eat,” he rumbled lazily.

Harry groaned, “Fuck off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three pages of Porn are so much faster to write than five pages of actual plot lmao


	4. Chapter 4

“ _...peerless bravery...fighting the Dungeon menace...this great country...under the eyes of god..._ ”

Thomas was going to literally fall asleep standing.

He'd never had an awful lot of respect for the President to begin with, being a ghetto rat as a child, gang bruiser as a teen, gang leader as a man, and then an S-ranked monster hunter, he found the President to be a weak-willed two faced pathetic waste of space. Even after meeting the man he still maintained that opinion, just added limp-wristed to the list of adjectives for him. And now he could add gas-bag to it.

There were only five people here, and yet he would not _shut. up_.

All of them had been dressed for the occasion, stood up on a stage in front of some fancy building, he didn't know, the White House got nuked in the Kamish incident so the President was staying somewhere else. Either way, they were on a raised platform, surrounded by TV cameras, hordes of people watching and listening, in the mid-morning sun, dressed up and waiting to receive their medals. He didn't often wear a suit, but he knew he cut a very fine figure in one, especially when tailored appropriately. Next to him, Reed was dressed in much the same, impressive but not _as_ impressive. Fighters and Tankers generally had different builds to start with and there was absolutely no denying who was what between the two of them. The chinese Liu Zhigang was dressed in a very fine silk outfit, traditional to his own country, in stark white from neckline to toes, with a yellow jacket – the look on the interpreter's face when he saw the outfit had been amusing and Thomas dearly wanted to know what was going on with that. The Indian, Siddharth Buchanan, also wore white as well, a simple white wrap across his shoulder almost like a cape, and a dark red tunic with golden embroidery.

Potter though. He wore black robes with a wide deep hood, and some manner of dark charcoal grey high-necked thing underneath. He didn't let Thomas get close enough to get a proper look when they were waiting off to one side for the President to arrive, using some kind of spell to bounce his hand away before it even made contact with him, sternly informing him that he was absolutely not laying a hand on him until this was over. He even had glasses, it took him a second to realise it but _fuuuck_. Little square gold framed glasses.

Looked like his kinky school teacher fantasies were going to come true sooner than anticipated.

“ _...momentous year...believed the end of days..._ ”

as soon as this asshole stopped spewing shit.

He didn't sigh. He could see Laura to one side, feel her eyes digging _daggers_ into his side. She had begged him, when she presented the suit, that he make the Scavengers look good. He was in front of the entire country, he was _representing_ their Guild, their country, to the whole world as their Guild Master. He had better make it good. When she put it like that, he couldn't do anything but don the monkey suit, brush his hair, and smile all pretty for the cameras.

“ _Ladies and Gentleman, I would like to present you with the 2005 recipients of not_ only _the Presidential Medal of Freedom, but also the Congressional Gold Metal._ ” The crowd in front of them erupted into cheering, screaming, and waving, a huge tidal wave of noise practically hitting them out of nowhere and jarring Thomas back to awareness as he realised the stupidly long winded speech was over.

“ _Now. To actually hand out the medals. Please be patient as my military aide here reads the citations. Each individual will come up and receive their medals, and then we'll wrap this up in time for the reception,_ ” the President announced into the microphone, smiling charmingly at the crowd before he stepped down to approach them, a young man stepping up behind him to speak.

“ _Liu Zhigang. The peerless Seven Star Rank Chinese Fighter, heralding from Wuhan. Wielding dual long swords. He is credited with the defeat of the S-rank Dungeon Boss, Kamish the Destroyer. In doing so, Liu Zhigang has protected the people of the United States and the World, leaving a legacy and legend in his wake of his speed and power._ ” The Chinese man bowed gracefully as the President collected the first metal from one of the aides following after him. One after the other, each medal was pinned to the man's chest as the President exchanged quiet words of thanks that the interpreter just behind the foreigner repeated for him to understand.

There was a pause long enough for the applause to die down and then they moved onto Siddharth Buchanan. His announcement was much the same, almost word for word actually, only they threw in a little mention of the losses of his top ranking Guild Members who had joined him, paying tribute and thanks to their sacrifice. Thomas could hear the President murmuring a promise to pay the promised money to their families, and an offer of US citizenship to any who wanted it.

Then came Potter. Again, it was identical to the other two. A little added regarding their thanks to the UK Hunter Association for allowing him to come – nothing was said about his _volunteering_ to aid them without payment. Thomas honestly didn't expect them to say anything about that, considering how it would have painted everyone else on the stage in a bad light. But what did he care? He might drop a word in some reporter's ear to investigate it and then sit back and laugh. The fall out would probably be fucking hilarious.

Of course when it came to Reed and himself, the acclaims were much more grandiose and extensive. It was to be expected, they were American themselves.

They stood a little longer for photographs, the President taking a moment to pose with them as he shook their hands and grinned like a moron. Then they were all arranged in the stage for a group photo, Thomas ending up in the middle at the back as the largest of them, he didn't mind, it gave him the change to get a good grope in on the little mage – only to find his hand bouncing away on that magic field, _again_.

Then they were escorted into the building for the reception.

Potter annoyingly vanished, and every time Thomas saw him he had his back to a wall and was in deep conversation with new people. He pouted a little into his drink but ultimately shrugged it off. He could mess the guy up later in the privacy of his hotel room where he was more likely to be noisy and entertaining. Though, watching him try to be quiet in a closet here would have been _very_ entertaining. He put the man out of his mind before he ended up traumatising some poor Senator when his wife got a look at how _lacking_ he was by comparison.

Of course, the sudden spike of Bloodlust in the middle of the sit down dinner forcibly dragged his attention _back_ to said man, him and every other S-ranker at the table as they all froze and looked around in shock. It was so sudden and coordinated that their conversation partners also went silent and followed their eyes down to where Potter was sat, calmly, delicately, cutting up his meal, his expression placid, his grip on his cutlery gentle, as the senator next to him continued to loudly reassure him that the USA would absolutely take care of him. He had a friend at the Embassy who would rush through the citizenship papers before the end of the week. The UK Association would be absolutely thrilled to see a man of his talents join them here, after all, their two countries have always had a special relationship and given how _small_ the UK was he would be absolutely _squandered_ in such a place.

The mage put down his knife and fork and delicately wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Thank you for the _thought_ , Senator, but I am quite happy where I am. You needn't trouble yourself,” he informed the gentleman beside him without looking his way, that accent of his thickening into some Queen's English shit.

“No trouble at _all_ , dear boy! I dare say the sooner you join us the better. We don't _have_ an S-rank mage just yet, mores the shame,” the Senator blustered with a dismissive wave of his fork. “I'll call my man tonight. You needn't even have to fly _home_ – ”

The Bloodlust spiked to such a level that Reed's silverware bent between his fingers. And Thomas felt his adrenaline spike as well.

Potter's smile was airy and almost vacant, “Perhaps you misunderstood me, Senator. I'm not leaving England. Excuse me,” he announced to the table in general before getting to his feet and walking out of the room.

Liu Zhigang whistled lowly in a mixture of amusement and admiration, babbling something in his mother tongue that had his interpreter going white, red, and then grey. Thomas could hear the mage outside the room speaking to the serving staff, quietly praising the chefs and asking them to pass along his compliments and apologies that he couldn't stay to finish the lovely meal, yes, unfortunately he would be leaving now. If his dessert had already been made up then please, to whomever on the staff had been having a bad day, see to it that they receive such with his hopes that it cheers them up. And then the sound of his footsteps very _carefully_ moving away from the ballroom.

Reed finished his wine off, “Shame he didn't paste the man,” he mused, “Would have been quite entertaining.”

A part of him agreed, but another part of him found the little display of complete control in _describably_ hot.

* * *

When he snuck into Potter's penthouse suite that evening, he found the man reading with a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, glasses on, robes discarded in favour of sweats and a t-shirt.

“If you're here to fuck, you can fuck right off,” the mage informed him coolly without looking up from his book as he stepped into the building.

Thomas grinned in amusement, “Well that sounds like a chall– ”

The magic hit him so hard and fast he didn't even have the chance to move before he was on his knees, his arms bound behind his back. He hit the ground so hard the room shook and the decorative stone steps cracked under his knees.

Potter hadn't even moved. Staring at him from over his book with venom bright eyes, and a cold glare.

He tugged on the bindings, heaving on them as hard as he dared, feeling the _floor_ beginning to crack and sag before the bindings gave even an inch, and quickly stopped before he ended up putting his feet through the hotel ceiling.

Potter closed his book with a soft thump and got to his feet.

“I think you, and the rest of the world, seem to have confused my kindness with either stupidity or spinelessness,” he said, his voice smooth and icy, sending blood to all sorts of interesting places in Thomas' body as he stalked forward. A simple flick of his wrist repairing the ground beneath him with barely a flicker of mana or effort. His mouth went dry as the mage's fingers slid around his jaw and tilted his head up to look him in the eye.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am either, Thomas Andre. I _let_ you into my bed, my body. But that is a privilege. Not a right. You do not get to intrude upon my time or my space without my permission,” the mage informed him quietly.

“Oh?” Thomas asked roughly, swallowing hard as he looked up into the mage's face, finding absolutely no humour, pity, or mercy there. God, he was hard.

“Indeed,” he agreed quietly. “As I said. If you are here for sex, you can leave now. I am not in the mood.”

He grinned roguishly, “I'm good at making moods,” he teased.

Potter stared at him and then dropped his chin before turning around and walking away. That perfect perky ass right at his eye level, the perfect _biting_ height. Thomas yelped as he was lifted off the floor entirely, arms still pinned behind his back with magic.

“Come back tomorrow,” the mage grunted, still not looking at him as he collected his book and his wine, “Maybe I'll feel less like throttling you with your own entrails. Now get out.”

He waved his hand and Thomas dropped, like a misbehaving cat, onto the decking outside the penthouse.

Now.

He _could_ be annoyed.

But if that had happened to any one else he would have been fucking _howling_ with laughter. As it was, he couldn't help but chuckle in amusement.

Well that had been his own damn fault.

“Temper temper,” he muttered in amusement under his breath as he rolled his shoulders and stretched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No actual porn in this chapter unless you count Harry being a BAMF and Thomas getting unbelievably turned on by that fact. 
> 
> Funnily enough, this scene was actually planned by chapter 2, I just couldn't think of a way of working it in until now. I tend to write Harry as an actual nice person, he might be mouthy and a brat at times, but he genuinely likes helping people because he's been in their position before and wouldn't wish it on anyone. So When I write people taking advantage of that, I really want to put in a scene like this, where they get their verbal smack down. Or their physical smackdown. Or just any kind of well deserved smackdown. 
> 
> There was going to BE some porn in this one but then I realised that Harry is a responsible adult now, he wouldn't let Thomas mess him up right before he had to go and deal with the President or Congress or any kind of officials. Hence the barrier magic stopping him from getting his hands anywhere. Harry's always had the ability to stop Thomas - I've kinda hinted this a lot, especially during the fight against Kamish for anyone who actually knows what his scream does, he just hasn't wanted to. Afterall, how many other times in his life is he going to be able to fuck someone he doesn't have to worry about breaking, no concern about scandals, and just keep it casual and fun? What happens in the USA stays in the USA.
> 
> (until it follows him home like a puppy)


	5. Chapter 5

When he'd been a teenager, his temper had been a sharp easy to rouse thing, loud and explosive, but easily burnt out into sullen resentment. As he got older and the investigation into the IRA and the Neo-nazi Satanic cult his parents murderer had created began to heat up and get violent, he found himself having to lengthen that fuse because getting angry meant getting reckless and other people paying the price for it. And then Teddy came into his life and he _swore_ he would never be like his Uncle, never raise his voice to his godson. So he went to anger management, he learned how to keep his temper on a leash, keep his voice down. He never lost it, not really, these days he was slow to anger, but when he snapped it was cold and quiet.

And it always left him with an awful headache the morning after.

“Fuck,” he muttered, recalling how he'd lashed out at the American when he appeared late the previous evening. He didn't feel bad about establishing his boundaries, or putting the man in his place, but he'd sworn that he would never use his magic on someone that couldn't defend themselves against it. He would end up back on the Association Watch List if they found out about that little incident. The UK tried to keep a tighter leash on its S-rankers than other countries, and Harry had pretty good incentive to play by the rules when they could quite easily render him unable to see his godson. He'd been on their watch list the second he Awakened due to his prior criminal record while dealing with the cult, they never really took him off, just lowered his threat level so he wasn't under constant surveillance, but they could very quickly put him right back onto a level where his grocery bill would be inspected.

He dragged a hand through his hair and glanced to the side where an empty bottle of wine greeted him.

...That was probably why his headache was worse than usual. He wasn't really one for drinking.

He sighed at the time on the clock. His flight back to England was at eight o'clock that evening. It would take two hours to get through customs and another two hours just to reach the airport. Meaning he should look to leave the hotel by three. That gave him five hours to sort himself out, pack, shower, and tidy up after himself in here. If he slept on the plane, then he would arrive back in England early enough to join Teddy for breakfast with Molly and the rest of the clan before taking him back home and showering him with love and cuddles until everything was right with the world. Or at least felt a little closer to it.

Pulling himself out of the bed was more difficult than he would like to admit, but the hotel had an excellent wet room with a power shower that did wonders for his back. The hot water made his headache worse, annoyingly, but that was a small price to pay – he had some painkillers in his bag. He would be sure to deal with the dehydration after he'd eaten breakfast.

“You know,” a voice rumbled as he stepped out of the bathroom towelling his hair, and _scaring the shit out of him_ (NO LIGHTNING BOLTS IN THE HOUSE – TEDDY – NO), “I always heard brits couldn't handle hot stuff, but I think you might have summoned Satan himself from the pipes,” Thomas joked, grinning at him from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

Harry felt like his heart was about to drum its way out of his chest, “Do – not – DO that!” he hissed, dragging the towel off his head, “I almost took your head off, you bastard.” He blamed the headache for why he didn't sense the man, he didn't particularly want to deal with extrasensory perception when his _normal_ senses were making his brain feel like lumpy oatmeal.

“Still in a bad mood?” he asked in amusement.

“A headache actually,” he groaned before sighing and rubbing his face, “Speaking of – my bad mood, yesterday,” he began. Fuck, he could hardly preach to Teddy about this shit if he didn't follow through himself, he was _not_ a hypocrite. “I'm sorry about – what happened. Using my magic on you. That was – unacceptable, and rude. I shouldn't have done it, no matter how angry I was,” he forced out, avoiding eye contact. Admitting weakness to another S-ranker, he must have been _out_ of his mind. Everything inside of him told him not to be so fucking stupid, but the part of him that was trying _really_ fucking hard to be a good example told him to suck it up and be a decent fucking human being and an adult.

“You kiddin'? That was hot. No need to apologise,” the blond dismissed easily with a wide toothy grin.

Of course he would find it –

Harry sighed, “Never the less. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry.”

“Well you know how to make it up to me,” the man chuckled intently, smirking at him.

His stomach twisted in anticipation even as he sighed again, “I suppose I do,” he admitted lips twisting into a wry smile as he moved closer, “Good thing you're easily pleased.”

“You calling me easy?” Thomas asked in amusement, amber eyes glinting intently as Harry got close enough to touch, making absolutely no move to do so, forcing the mage to be the one to initiate contact.

“Would you prefer simple?” he asked rhetorically, standing between the tanker's open legs and pondering where to begin. He did like giving head but, the logistics of that might prove difficult given the size issues. All of it was out of the question, he might have no longer really had a gag-reflex but deep-throating that was probably going to do some damage.

“I'd prefer – ” he caught something as it shot from the bedside table, Harry blinked in confusion as his own glasses were carefully slid onto his face. Wearing them while Raiding was a legitimate health hazard as the mana-artisans had yet to develop any manner of lens or glass that could withstand an A-rank dungeon, so Harry just took them off and spent a lot more time at the targetting range to make up for the blurry vision. These days, while he did prefer wearing them, it didn't bother him to go without overly much. “ – you in these,” the tanker said, grinning as Harry blinked up at him.

Well... alright then?

He brushed aside his confusion in favour of kissing the man, feeling his hands settle on his hips, taking no time in yanking away the towel around his waist and sliding across his still slightly damp skin while he worked on getting that truly _hideous_ hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts off.

It was nice that things _were_ this simple between them. Relations between S-ranks were _notoriously_ messy and violent. If anyone from the Federal Hunters' Bureau or the UK Hunters Association knew exactly how _often_ Thomas had snuck into his hotel room, they would have been freaking out. And with good reason. Most S-ranks were not cordial to one another, especially when they were of similar power-levels or certain classes, especially not when intruding upon each other's territory. The USA was Thomas Andre's territory just as the UK was Harry's and China was Liu Zhigang's. Getting offended when the territory owner intruded on your hotel room was more than a little pointless because _it was still his space_ , and the S-rank instincts that directed them to fight, to use their powers, to wield their mana, all agreed on that. Even though it was his hotel room, _Harry_ was the one intruding upon Thomas' territory by just being in the USA. And yet, there was little chance of anything explosive happening between them regardless. Despite being more _powerful_ than Thomas, Harry was a Mage, and they weren't exactly predisposed to aggression. And Thomas was a quintessential Tanker, _the_ Tanker as he had bragged in prior interviews. Despite generally being the largest and most physically imposing of the classes, they were _defensive_. A Tanker was usually good humoured and laid-back, if not _lazy_. They did not _start_ fights, throw the first punch, or actively instigate confrontations, that was mostly the behaviour of the _Fighters_.

Fighters were the worst for territory disputes and quibbling over who was strongest, _especially_ amongst themselves. The number of S-rank Fighter classes was a solid fifty percent of the world-wide S-rank population, meaning that all the other classes put together would only just equal the number of fighters. Therefore was it any wonder that people misunderstood and assumed that all S-rankers were hyper-aggressive alpha types? If it had been _Reed_ barging into his hotel room, American or not, in the USA or not, there would have been blood. It would have been an active goad, an attack, on Harry for the weaker Fighter to think he had the right to approach him with that kind of impunity. Not to mention it would have also been a deliberate challenge to Thomas' authority to confront Harry when the two of them had reached a non-violent understanding. When S-ranks formed up into Guilds it was.... like a wolf pack he wanted to say, the popularised fictional wolf pack, not the way they actually operated naturally. Because Harry had healed Thomas, supported both him and Reed in the fight against Kamish, in return the Tanker had prevented him from dying from mana exhaustion before medical help could be received and provided shelter and warmth to him personally. Whatever debts Harry owned from the fight were paid in the aftermath, leaving both of them on even ground. Thomas did as a Guild Master would, as the 'pack leader' would, and attempted to recruit him to the Scavengers, only for Harry to refuse. They still remained cordial, but that refusal still resulted in the check ins. The intrusions on his hotel room to make sure he wasn't causing trouble in the Tanker's territory.

The fucking was just for fun.

Harry could have put a stop to it whenever he pleased, but the Tanker's interest in him was perhaps the least complicated appreciation he had ever experienced outside of Teddy. The man appreciated Harry healing him, was interested in how powerful he was, and wanted to fuck. Nothing else. No ulterior motives. Just having a good time and feeling good.

And when Harry went back home, there wouldn't be an awful lot of opportunity for that. Not with the Press, his job, his friends, _Teddy_ – it was hard to have a sex life when you had a seven year old who liked to cause trouble ninety percent of the time.

Thomas laughed into his mouth, muttering something about role-reversals as he threw the hideous shirt to one side. Harry grunted into him, “Shut up, it's an ugly shirt and looks better down there,” he declared dismissively as he wrestled with the buttons on his shorts.

“My shirts are amazing,” the blond objected in amusement, leaning back a little to give him more space to get them off.

“Amazingly garish,” Harry agreed, pulling the fabric down impatiently.

“Priss,” the American concluded in deep amusement, inhaling deeply as Harry got hold of his cock and squeezed it a little, smirking up at him.

“Is that really the thing you want to say to a man who conjures fire and lightning while he has your cock in his hands?” he teased, skimming his fingers down the man's length, trailing his fingernails back up _ever so_ lightly.

He breathed in deeply, grinning, “Fuck, sounds like a great idea. Fuckin' thrill,” he rumbled, leaning back on his palms to watch as Harry took him in both hands and slowly began to stroke him, moaning appreciatively when he ran his tongue up the underside of his head.

He mouthed at the blond's shaft, slowly sliding his lips up and down the blood-hot length, rubbing his thumb against his tip, pressing and pulling down the underside of his bellend even as his mouth travelled up. He swallowed the head of his cock, hot and heavy and thick on his tongue, suckling it against the roof of his mouth as his hands stroked up and down the man's shaft, drawing a deep groan from the blond before a large heavy hand tangled in his hair.

“Look at me while you do that,” he demanded, grip tightening just enough for his scalp to sting and his eyes to flutter before he looked up, green meeting amber over the edge of gold-rimmed glasses.

Thomas' grip gentled, sliding through his wet hair to cradle the back of his skull as he slowly slid his mouth down as far as he could on the man's cock. He held his breath as he swallowed it down as far to the top of the hand he had clenched at the base of him, as far as he could get, as could _fit_ , and slowly pulled back, tongued pressed tight against the thick ridge on the underside of his cock. Keeping eye-contact the whole time.

The muscular thighs on either side of him twitched violently as the thick head of the tanker slid across his tongue, slick and salty, the American groaning shamelessly. Harry's eyes lowered as he shifted his grip, jerking of off a little as he tongued the tip of the man's cock before swallowing him down again, taking a deep breath and holding it as he pushed down further, swallowing, feeling his throat convulse and _swallowing_ – he stopped, sucking hard on the thick length halfway down his throat, chest heaving as he jerked and tried not to gag.

He pulled back, breathing hard, precum and saliva slicking his lips, decorating the swollen red head of the American's cock. He took a few seconds to breathe, ignoring the soft chuckle and almost gentle rub of thick fingers in his hair before getting on him again. He was fairly sure he could do it, the whole thing. He just had to take his time.

It aches, and he can feel his eyes watering and his lungs itching as he swallowed the man down again, listening to the breathy moan of appreciation as he swallowed him down, sucking hard and determinedly, wet, graceless, and messy as he inched down and paused before pushing down a little more.

“Fuck, Jesus shit, fuck,” the blond cursed, fingers tightening in his hair. “Almost there. Fuck. Fuck. Look at me,” he grit out, tightening his fingers in Harry's hair, heat blossoming in the pit of his stomach as he struggled to swallow just a little more, wet green eyes flickering up to amber red as he shuddered, whimpering and breathing hard through his nose. “Fuck, that's it,” he groaned thoroughly enjoying –

There was a knock at the door.

Both of them froze looking at one another before Harry carefully pulled away, Thomas' cock sliding out of his mouth wet, red, and leaking precum as the mage panted and wheezed for air, wiping his mouth.

The tanker pouted at him, “We could ignore them?” he pointed out roughly, fingers twitching lightly in his hair before sliding out as the mage stood up.

“Then they might come in,” he pointed out flushing at how raspy his voice was before grabbing the nearest article of clothing and throwing it on to answer the penthouse door, making sure to keep his body hidden behind the door. It was a concierge from downstairs bearing a tray with a bottle and a letter. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked politely, making his voice higher than normal to cover for how absolutely wrecked he sounded.

“Mister Potter?” the young man greeted with an eager to please smile, “Senator Roberts asked me to deliver these and inform you that he is waiting downstairs.”

Harry grimaced, “Uh, thank you but unfortunately I have a flight in a few hours, I do not have the time to visit the Senator,” he explained apologetically. It wasn't the young man's fault that Harry was a bit _busy_ right now.

The young man nodded in understanding, “If it helps at all, Mister Potter, he did specify that these were an apology for last night.” He held the tray out a little more insistently.

Trapped, he smiled awkwardly and opened the door a little further to collect the two items, “Well, thank you for bringing them to me. Apology accepted. But it does not change the fact that I will not be meeting with the Senator. I hardly think I'm dressed for the occasion,” he joked gesturing to his wet hair self-deprecatingly. “You have a good day now, thank you for bringing this up.”

“You too Mister Potter,” the concierge gushed before leaving.

Harry sighed and hipchecked the door shut with a grumble. Senator Roberts was fast approaching the top of his shit list he decided as he examined the bottle of expensive whiskey in disgust – and then the garish hawaiian shirt he'd grabbed up off the ground and worn. He may as well read the letter. He tucked the bottle under one arm and opened it up before heading back to the bedroom, skimming the over-abundance of purple prose that was supposed to be an apology but in reality sounded like Draco Malfoy telling his last girlfriend why it was her fault they broke up when he cheated. He sighed in disgust, reading the man's complete confusion about why Harry wouldn't want to come and live in America when it was so amazing and England was puny and small and barely had any money or Gate Activity when America was huge and rich and had so much. As a powerful S-rank it was his duty to come and serve America, blah blah blah.

“Do you like whiskey? Because otherwise I'm dumping it down the toilet,” he declared as he read the closing post-script about how as a _family man_ he would love to have a son just like Harry, his daughter was in college didn't you know? Wink Wink, nudge nudge. Disgusting.

There was no answer and he looked up from the letter just in time to get yanked up off his feet and shoved against the wall, the startled yelp swallowed out of his mouth by hot insistent lips.

The bottle was tugged out of his hand and tossed onto the bed without a backwards glance as the mage was practically devoured, held up against the wall with only one arm. It was a bit more of a turn on than anticipated as Harry leaned in digging one hand into blond hair, and the other into powerful shoulder muscles.

“I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll still feel me inside you on the otherside of the fucking planet,” the tanker groaned into his mouth.

“Promises, promises,” he retorted, biting at the man's lower lip before licking his way into his mouth, eagerly deepening the open mouthed kiss before quite purposefully pulling away. “Prove it.”

He knew as soon as he said that he was going to pay for it but – oh well. Worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

Was this man actively _trying_ to embody all of his filthiest fantasies?

Swanning into the room drowning in _his_ shirt, fucking whiskey in one hand, those prissy glasses on the tip of his nose, using that snobby-librarian/school teacher Queen's English bullshit accent, and actively daring him, _challenging him_ , to do his worst. The only way this could get better was if he had fucking _cigars_ in the other hand.

He was going to destroy this man.

Fuck him up and wreck him until no other cock or toy would satisfy.

Absolutely ruin him for every other man.

“When your flight?” he demanded, holding the mage up with ease in one hand while the other skimmed up his ribs beneath his shirt to drag a thumb over his nipple.

“Eight. Ngh, I leave at – three,” he moaned, neck arching back tantalisingly as he pinched and pulled at the man's nipple, squeezing and releasing it only to gently graze the tip with the pad of his thumb in tiny teasing circles to feel the flesh harden and the shiver wrack down the brit's body.

“Five hours,” he concluded, voice rough, “Think you'll even be able to walk after all that?” he purred, watching as those pretty green eyes blew wide and dark with desire.

“Can you even keep it _up_ that long?” he challenged, jutting his chin out just that little bit and raising an eyebrow and heat crawled up his spine at the expression, set its claws in his stomach, and made his mouth water with the need to sink his teeth in and make him _squeal_.

His grin was shark-like and predatory as he abandoned the mage's chest to grab his thigh and haul him up onto his face. “Better question: Can you?” he teased, revelling in the wide-eyed look of sudden realisation before he shoved the mage up against the wall again and sucked his cock down wholesale.

The dark haired male's breathy moan twisted sharp and hot in the pit of his stomach as he made no effort to be delicate or neat, or even quiet, as he sucked him off. Sucking and bobbing his head up and down on his length, wet and sloppy, shaking his head like a dog as he swallowed him down to the hilt, relishing the fracturing cry it wrung out of the mage as his body arched back against the wall. He loved it when he got his fuck-partners to lose control, to get loud and shameless and desperate. Especially the prim and proper little sluts like Potter who had the mouth of a goddamn sailor when pushed.

Psychokinesis had the familiar bottle of olive oil from the kitchen rejoin them, and he made sure to suck hard and deep as he worked his fingers in, pressing the squirming and panting mage even more firmly against the wall and grinned around his cock when he looked down, flushed and dazed, breathing hard. He shifted his grip on the smaller man's hip, lifting and pulling him, encouraging him to get those hips moving properly.

He got the message eventually, and Thomas groaned, cock throbbing eagerly as the little mage rode his face and fucked himself to the _knuckle_ on his fingers.

He could feel the muscle under his fingers winding tighter as the man's breathing started to get erratic, and then he pulled his fingers out, and lifted his mouth away, grinning at the noise of anger and dismay, feeling him shudder and jerk in his hands.

“Fucking – bastard – why – ” he gasped.

He grinned, “Because the only time you're gunna cum is with my dick in you,” he promised before sinking his teeth into the man's thigh.

The sharp choked cry made him freeze, eyes flicking up to the brit's face as he clamped a hand over his mouth and shuddered, collar of his skirt slipping off a thin shoulder.

He laughed in delight, “I knew you liked it rough but _that's_ a surprise” he rasped, licking at the faint indents of his teeth left behind on slowly reddening flesh. Potter scowled at him, and tugged irritably at his hair, sending sharp arousal skittering down his spine like a wave of static to tingle at his toes and fingertips.

“Hurry up,” he grit out, squirming.

And just for that, he decided he was going to edge this bastard incoherent.

He turned and gave the mage a little push, throwing him to the otherside of the room where he landed on the bed with a startled yelp, that turned into a grunt as psychokinesis pressed him down and trapped him in place. Thomas grinned at the sight, messy dark wet hair spread out everywhere, long legs with his teeth marked red against the inner thigh, his shirt open and splayed like wrapping paper on his new favourite birthday present.

He pulled those hands up above his head with another flex of kinesis and crawled on top of him, sliding his hand down between his legs to get back inside, smirking at the soft moan of relief.

He mouthed at the man's inner thigh, fingers slowly pressing and rubbing, looking for the fun button with every intention of working it until it stuck. He felt the brit's stomach twitch and tense when he got close and grinned against the soft skin of his leg before biting down.

Harry cried out as lightning splintered across his nerves, thick fingers pressing and circling on his prostate as pleasure-pain radiated from his thigh. Thomas chuckled and licked at the second bite-mark he left, sucking on the aching flesh even as he pumped his fingers in and out, rubbing and circling his hole with oil slick fingertips, working it wider and looser before delving back in to dig into that little bundle of nerves that made him wail.

Thomas was as hard as fucking granite, slowly stroking himself as he watched the pretty mage come apart at the seams. Every time it looked like he was going to cum, he would pull his fingers out, stop sucking his cock, and just go back to stroking his skin and kissing him, keeping him pinned down and helpless with psychokinesis. Watching as his breathing got more erratic, the fucking _noises_ coming out of his mouth got higher and more desperate, cracking and breaking and whimpering, more and more every time.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Harry could feel his face burning with exertion, his head was spinning as he squirmed and twisted on the hotel bedding. His whole body felt like it was burning up from the inside, harsh, almost painful pleasure clawing up through his guts with jagged burning teeth as Thomas' fingers press and _dig_ into him.

Stars swam behind his eyes, bursts of white and black swarming across his vision like wasps as he choked and wheezed, straining against the force that kept him pinned to the bed. The fingers inside him twisted, sliding deep, past his prostate and spread, opening tight untouched flesh making him shudder and twist to the side with a broken keen.

The slow drag of those fingers retreating was torture, the way his flesh ached sharper, fiercer, for the lack of them even as the immediate removal felt like sweet relief. They slid back in, slowly, tortuously, and turn, fingertips twitching and rubbing. And then a hot wet mouth swallowed his cock down. It felt like fire curling up through his belly and he jerked, hard and rough, _shaking_ , twisting and keening, high, sharp noises as his fingers tore into the mattress below.

Thomas just laughed, the _bastard_. If Harry had the air he would have cursed him out.

His fingers pressed up and Harry wheezed, legs spasming, and then cried out when he pulled is fingers out completely.

The giant waited a little while, stroking the mage's legs, waiting for the shuddering to pass, kissing his hips and stomach until he was able to gasp some proper air into shuddering lungs. A shame that his recruitment efforts had failed, he would have loved to keep this one collared and leashed at his desk or bed, edged and eager. So pretty and aching for him. Despite being sturdy enough to take him, and laid back enough to take this casual with no expectations further, Thomas could tell that the mage didn't indulge in this kind of thing often, he wouldn't have been anywhere near as responsive if he did. Wouldn't have sounded anywhere near as sweet.

“Ready?” he asked roughly, he could have watched the mage writhe for days, but he was _aching_ , swollen and throbbing with need.

The mage nodded, and hissed, arching up as Thomas dragged his tongue up his cock, twisting under him.

“Use your words, Sweetheart,” he taunted, grinning.

“B-bastard...” the mage choked out, trying to twist away.

Thomas laughed roughly, shifting up to cover him, kissing his cheek and then the side of his neck, running his tongue across salty sweat-sheened skin, and nuzzled into his ear. “Come on, what's the magic word, Sweetheart?” he rumbled, nipping at the underside of his jaw even as he slowly began to fondle the mage's cock. Grinning into his neck as his voice broke on a gasp, as he turned his head into him and whined, arching up and squirming, trying to get away. “What is it, Sweetheart?” he asked again, dipping his hips down just a little bit so he could feel the tip of his cock against his leg.

Harry wailed as he twisted his hand and pulled up.

“ _Please!_ P-please – Thomas, _please_ ,” he choked, voice cracking hoarsely as his whole body arched up off the bed to press against him.

God, that went _straight_ to his cock.

Every single one of Harry's nerves was jangling, he couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed about begging for it like that, too busy just trying to breathe –

There was a knock at the door, more of a hammer really, and the doorknob jiggled.

“Mister Potter! It's Senator Roberts!”

Harry almost sobbed with frustration and annoyance, he didn't want to _deal_ with this right now! _Couldn't_ deal with this right now. What the hell kind of Senator chases a man to his hotel, doesn't take no for an answer, and then comes up to his hotel room uninvited?

Thomas snarled and heaved himself up, making absolutely no effort to cover himself as he stormed to the front door and ripped it open. He didn't even look closely enough to identify the fucking worm who goes from smile to horror at the sight of the buck-ass naked S-rank hunter.

“Fuck off!” he barked in the face of the suited man, his close protection, and the hotel concierge before slamming the door shut again hard enough to rattle the entire floor.

He waited for all of a few seconds for another knock, hearing the disbelieving wheezing and choking of the group before turning on heel and stalking back to the bedroom when they didn't do anything else. Potter was sat up amidst the destroyed bedding, his shirt hanging off him at the elbows, wiping his face off and trying to catch his breath which absolutely wouldn't fucking do after he spent so long getting him worked up enough to _beg_.

Harry still felt scraped raw, shaky and rubbery, everything felt like it was going a thousand miles an hour and the rest of the world was lagging behind. He didn't ask where the Senator was as Thomas returned to the bed, he heard the snarl and slamming of the door, distantly in the back of his head some small part of him was freaking out about the Tanker answering the door naked with _that_ thing hard and jutting out like a fucking weapon to who knew how many people, the other part of him was more preoccupied as he crawled onto the bed and kissed him.

He was pulled in close and dropped onto his back, large hands parting his legs and settling inbetween them with a low groan into his lips.

When the massive slick head of the man's cock finally pushed in, he couldn't stop himself from tearing his mouth away to cry out, he's so oversensitive that it _burns_ , prickling, churning sharp pleasure-pain that left him dizzy and breathless, even as thoroughly fingerfucked and stretched as he was it's too much. It set hooks into his stomach and dug in. He whimpered and tried to move, twisting and jerking with every inch of him that was taken, trying to find some angle that's _less_ , that didn't feel like he's being split open by that huge aching shaft.

There wasn't one.

By the time he's seated fully, buried deep somewhere in Harry's belly, he was clawing at the man's back, digging his fingers into thick bands of muscle with breathless, desperate sounds, as he clenched and ground down on him trying to – he didn't know, he didn't, he just wanted more. He got one leg up and around the giant's thigh and tried to pull him closer but there was no moving him and Harry shook, gasping and whining as he pressed him into the bed, perfectly impaled, and held him there, mouthing and kissing at his neck and face, making him feel everything.

His glasses are foggy, he noted distantly, inanely, as he tried to get some leverage to move.

He caught hold of a chunk of blond hair and _yanked_ , shivering at the almost guttural growl it earned him before he screamed, that huge length inside of him pulling back and driving forward sending fireworks bursting behind his screwed shut eyes.

There are teeth in his neck now as the blond man gripped his hips in both hands and drove into him, ruthless and powerful, and Harry could only hold on and take it.

And then it stopped. He settled in deep and hard and pressed him down as Harry whined and tried to squirm down further on him, clenching and shivering.

The American's voice rumbled in his chest as he laughed, “You're going to beg me for this,” he promised, and Harry couldn't help the near-sob as he shoved his face into the side of the man's neck and trembled.

He believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to end it there guys. Three pages of smut is a bit much and I didn't want people to get bored, which would happen if I continued much further. Writing prolonged scenes is hard. In more ways than one. I mean, it is difficult on a technical level. 
> 
> Also, lol, I do feel for Senator Roberts, just a little bit. Attempting to recruit an S-ranker to his country and only ends up pissing him off, and their OWN off. His innocent cockblocking ended up with him getting an eyeful OF cock. Poor chap. lmao


	7. Chapter 7

The whiskey burned on the way down as only the best stuff could, and Thomas savoured it as he slowly came down.

Potter shuddered against him, spread out back to chest against his front, head resting against his shoulder. The perfect position for him to tip the mage's head and kiss him, let him taste the damn good whiskey he was missing out on.

He put the bottle back down and smoothed a broad hand down the mage's shuddering chest and taut stomach, relishing the fluttering clench of his body on his half-hard cock still buried deep in his belly. Part of him was tempted to see how long he could keep the other S-ranker distracted, if he could get him to miss his flight, but knew that would probably be a little too much for the mage's patience (tempting though it was to see how a fight between them would turn out).

Potter shifted, trying to get some leverage to move on him only for Thomas to plant a hand on his groin, fingers splayed around his stiff and aching cock, to hold him in place.

“No, no, yer not goin' anywhere,” he rumbled playfully, eyes lidding in pleasure at the way his body squirmed on him, at the whimper of thwarted pleasure-pain. He had been keeping the mage on the edge for well over an hour now, impaled on him, spread open, tears of overstimulation coming and going between bursts of dazed panting and desperate keening as Thomas kept him on his cock without rest. Before then he had done his damn best to milk the man dry, fucking him to incoherency and back, exploring him and his limits thoroughly (breaking the bed at one point when he found the mage's one major instant red button – no choking).

He hadn't held himself back at all, a tanker's recovery period was much shorter than the other classes save perhaps healers who could cum like a firehose every thirty seconds, so both Potter and the bedding were quite decorated with the proof of how much he had been enjoying the mage's company. Housekeeping were going to hate them he decided with a dirty chuckle as he smoothed his hand up Potter's cock, playing with the stiff, sore, and aching length, feeling him jerk in his hold and squirm on his now rock hard cock with a wrecked panting whimper.

“Shh, shh, shhh, you're doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmured slowly rocking his hips, feeling the cum slick slide of the mage's body weakly try to clench down on him. “So good. Such a good little cock warmer,” he praised with a vicious grin as he mouthed at the man's neck, already peppered with bruises and teeth marks like his shoulders, chest, nipples, back, and thighs. “Could keep you here for a week,” he moaned lazily, stroking his thighs, stomach, chest, fingers grazing his neck and jaw before drifting back down to press on a bruise dotted thigh. “What do you want sweetheart? Mmm?” he crooned, running the tip of his nose across his cheek, beginning to thrust slowly up into him. “What do you want? Use your words...”

“T-Thomas...” his voice was rough and breathy. “Ple-ease,” he wheezed shifting his thighs to try and get a little leverage.

He chuckled and carefully rolled them over, he'd figured out pretty quickly that the mage disliked being exposed, preferred to be covered, pressed down, enclosed, rather than spread and displayed. He would always twist his face away and press his lips together, try to be quiet, as if it were somehow humiliating to him, he definitely didn't appreciate it when Thomas drew his attention to the large mirror where they could be quite clearly, obscenely, be seen. He had been flushed beforehand but the embarrassment that wrote itself on his face had been hilarious and precious in equal measure. Shy was not a word he associated with S-rank. Nor with someone ballsy enough to curse him out, magically restrain him, put him in his place, and then dump him outside like a misbehaving housecat.

“So complicated,” he decided breathlessly, feeling himself begin to build again. He didn't want to stop but a quick glance at the clock proved that they were going to have to if Potter was going to catch his flight in time.

His final orgasm of the day was almost gentle the way it washed over and through him. Potter's less so as he jerked between Thomas' fingers and moaned into the pillows.

The two of them stayed in the bed, slowly coming down, he would have thought Potter had fallen asleep tucked up under his arm if it hadn't been for the way one of his hands was gently stroking his forearm, but he wasn't about to complain. Cuddling after sex was one of his few guilty pleasures that he rarely indulged, he didn't like his fucktoys up and leaving immediately after like he had been somehow _inadequate_ so he had never become known as one of those guys who would shove his bed-partners out as soon as they were done. A lot of women were particularly cuddly afterwards and he played it off as just indulging them because why not? Who didn't love the feeling of being covered in beautiful women, and men?

Potter's mobile phone started ringing, disturbing the post-fuck haze and the mage sighed against his wrist, making no move to get up as he lifted a hand and summoned the device from where-ever it was ringing from.

“Hello?” he grunted into the device, only for it to keep ringing. Thomas cracked his eyes open to see him frown at the device only to sigh when it became apparent that it wasn't a phone call but an alarm. 2pm. He smirked into the mage's shoulderblade. Four hour fuck marathon. A new very nice record. Potter reset the alarm and slapped it down onto the mattress beside them, going boneless once more beneath him which was actually quite lovely. He was soft and pliant and absolutely slathered with his stink.

“Might want to grab another shower in a bit,” he muttered into his shoulder, feeling the deep inhale before he huffed unhappily.

“And whose fault is that,” he rasped in complaint.

Thomas grinned and nipped at his shoulderblade, making him hiss unhappily, “Yours for having such a great ass.”

“Well kiss it goodbye then,” the mage grunted as he gathered all his limbs and forced himself up first to his hands and knees, Thomas' arm dangling across his shoulders before he managed to gather himself enough to swing his legs off the side of the bed. There was cum up his back and all over his thighs, smearing on the bedsheets as it oozed out of him.

He wondered idly if it would still be leaking out of him when he hit British soil several hours from now.

Potter grimaced in disgust at the mess before looking over his shoulder, coherent and bitchy and expectant, fully recovered already the way that only S-rank could. He wanted to fuck him up again.

“Well hurry up. You need to get cleaned up as well.”

...Shower sex certainly sounded like a good idea, and once they were in the wet room Potter was still soft and loose and wet from earlier despite his recovery and he sounded so good moaning his name against the tiles as he soaped him down and filled him up with cock again.

It was quite something to watch him use telekinesis to clean up while he got dressed, he even used magic to repair the shirt that Thomas had ripped off him at one point, cleaning it too with a flick of his wrist as he leaned against the wall to zip his boots up. All around them the dirty bedsheets were cleaned and stripped from the bed, the broken bedframe fixed itself, the fingerholes in the wall that Thomas had made by accident when Harry sank his own teeth into the tanker's nipple at one point.

And then his bags packed themselves.

Thomas shook his head as a pair of socks floated past him. He definitely needed to recruit this man. He just had to figure out how since seduction was out and threats would just lose him that ass. He followed after the mage as he made one last sweep of the hotel room to repair any damages and make sure he hadn't left anything behind, like the book he had left on the arm of the chair from the previous evening. He also cleaned the abandoned wine glass and had it put away with a flick of magic.

It was a little odd seeing Potter in battle robes now after having had him naked and in casual clothing the last few days, he wasn't wearing the glasses that he knew the mage actually needed, his long hair was twisted and pinned up beneath his ridiculously huge wizard's hat, and his slightly heeled boots coupled with the pads in his robes made him look taller and broader than he actually was. He could definitely see how the man managed to maintain both his personal and his hunting life separate now that he was seeing the public face put back on so soon after having utterly destroyed it.

And speaking of –

The look on Senator Roberts' face after Potter had finished checking out and was trotting towards the exit, suitcase trailing behind him, when Thomas saluted him with the half-finished bottle of whiskey with the self-satisfied grin of a man who had just had some damn good sex.

The Association escort looked like they didn't know what to do with themselves when Thomas came out on Potter's heels, they looked even more alarmed when he cheerfully barged into the car that the mage had just gotten into. But there was nothing they could do or say to stop him so shoulders were shrugged and they headed for the airport in mildly strained silence.

Cameras and paps were going insane as they reached the airport, but Potter was well known for disliking the press so while he stopped to glad-hand and greet some grateful people who thanked him for his assistance in the Kamish incident, Thomas hung back and let himself get swarmed by the press who were keeping a respectful distance from the mage who was known to set cameras on fire. And if he made a few side remarks about how he could respect anyone who volunteered to help America without pay, and that he was definitely as nice as the rumours said which was a bit tragic because it made people think they could take advantage, but also funny because watching them get a smack down was hysterical. Well it wasn't like Potter was there to tell him off for it, and it meant the publications would get something to write about. Everyone would go home happy.

Except him.

He pouted just a bit, until Potter shoved a business card at him and told him to hit him up if ever he came to England. A friend of his owned a damn good pub.

* * *

Harry grimaced as he gratefully left the plane back in England, collecting his things from baggage reclaim and then heading directly to where he could see Ms Vass from the Association waiting for him along with her usual contingent of suited and sunglass'd 'protection' detail. They were literally only there to maintain appearances.

He was never going to say a damn fucking word to the man about it, but he _still_ ached from the feel of him on the otherside of the fucking planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so short in both length and porn. I lost motivation for the sexy times - also, the plot stick has been beating my shins going "WHY ARE YOU NOT LETTING ME PLAY WITH THIS?!! I CAN SEE SEVERAL THINGS I CAN DO HERE WHY WON'T YOU LET ME IMMA DOING IT ANYWAY GIMME". So yeah. Now we have plot. Because I can't PWP. I also can't write porn either lmao. Not even gingerbread rum could save this chapter
> 
> OTL


End file.
